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The Arrow that Pierces

10:09:00 AM

The symbol of a pierced heart is the universal emblem of love's keen sting. In the tarot, the pierced heart is symbolic of conflict and combat, while the arrow through the heart is the symbol of Cupid's sting and new love. A veve of Erzulie Dantor is pierced with swords, and many use the symbol as a talisman of beauty and control. It is a powerful sigil and talisman, to be used in all magic red and wild.

I lost my grandfather a few days ago. I'm still processing the acceptance and the grief, we all are. On the one hand, I said my goodbyes a long time ago, when he was still capable of recognizing me. On the other hand, every time I look at my world I'm reminded of the impact he left. The graveyard of coyote and deer bones, the endless books, the broken violins and dazzling geodes; they were his gifts to me and now they make my heart ache to look at. We said our goodbyes and million times but it doesn't change the sting in my heart, to have lost my mother's father, my gramps.

I turn back into myself and back to my work, keep my hands busy in soaps and candles and cards. I don't want to share my grief. I don't want to be hugged or held. I don' want to spend my time with other people. I want to be alone with my thoughts and my plants, just like grandpa used to do. The flowers are so close to blooming I can feel it in my skin. Buds burst and bend and break free to bathe in the chilly Seattle sunlight. I'm just waiting for my chance to join them.

Love, love love, so lovely and divine it whittles away at your heart over time; but lovers will love no mater the cost and will continue to do so long after it's lost. It burns and brands us and makes us reel- from all the excitement and worry we feel, and we are our most dishonest when tethered together, and somehow still dream it will last forever.

Love, so lovely, divine but bleak, it's a current or crutch whether you're strong or weak, and all that we want and all that we seek is that all-consuming love of which we speak. It disappears, sometimes for years, it reappears with newfound fears and what do we do with this all this sorrow, those of us who are cursed by Eros' Arrow?

Patchouli, rose, damiana, orange and myrrh are all herbs in Aphrodite's sweet garden, where everything inspires lust or fertility or passion or sleep or need... Baths and incenses are part of that old vein of glamour where you manipulate the smoke and mirrors and facade of the world around you and yourself to deceive and onlooker. Venusian herbs have a nature to invigorate the senses to romance, it is believed. The smells certainly inspire me to create. The Garden of Venus is where I prefer to spend my time. Some witches play only in Hecate's garden, or in the Saturnian plot. I like the flower garden, where those sweet and tragic plants of the pierced heart grow entangled in warmth and spring. I'm just waiting for spring. For new life. With this death around me, I look forward to sun and green and spring.

Lavender sugar, sweet peaceful feelings and nurturing dreams

For all the beauty of the morning glory, it chokes the life from whatever it loves too tightly. For all the sweetness of a rose, the ever present prick of the thorn. For every unfurling leaf of ivy on the vine, the foundation upon which it climbs crumbles. Anything relating to love should be taken upon wearily and with full expectation of disappointments and aches. When it comes to love of the self; charms of beauty and sex and vitality, simple work is the most effective. Beauty is mixtures of beeswax, roses and elder, sex is a touch of yohimbe shrouded in indica, vitality is the tartness of a sweet orange.

Orange, rose hip, hibiscus, cinnamon, anise, allspice, clove tea. Reduce to a syrup and mix with seltzer in summer; serve hot with boiled slices of blood orange in winter, serve over ice in spring, mix with pumpkin spices and serve with tarts in autumn.

Love painful and new, I like to see where it goes and how it grows. When I get tangled up observing the dance of lust; the long glances, the warm smiles, the burning stares, the insecure giggles and masculine self-assurance, the awkward flirt, the bitter break up, the cold rejection, the bleeding heart... I think I have a hedonistic streak; I see no sin in indulgence and gluttony and freedom and permissiveness; I see consensual adult human sexual freedom as a whirlwind and I bite my thumb and puritanical social norms. The world belongs to the wild and balanced gnashing jaws of nature as far as I'm concerned, and yet at the same time, I fight for predicable order and control. That's the nature of the pierced heart, forever in conflict, forever aching, always changing and fighting.

Cacao, chili, brown vanilla, white vanilla, damiana= lust.

Love, is maddening. I'm in love. I'm always in love. With the world, with myself, with everyone and everything, with my partners, with my people. I think I like the madness. I could be a sorceress of flowers, the kind that binds and chokes and pricks and smells sweetly all the while. It's in my nature. Embrace your nature, even the sordid parts. Be a sorcerer of things you know well, and wield your power wildly. You will die soon. Everyone you know and love are all dying, they will die, don't waste your time being ashamed of your nature. Not even the prick of Eros' arrow can deter you.